


darling, you look perfect tonight

by Keira_63



Series: The Queen & Her Lord M [21]
Category: ITV Victoria, ITV Victoria (2016), Victoria (TV)
Genre: AU, Alternating Points of View, Ball, Dancing, Elizabeth and Leicester, Episode 3 AU, Episode 3: Brocket Hall, Episode Fix-It: s01e03 Brocket Hall, F/M, First Kiss, Happy Ending, Lord M POV, Love, Not Canon Compliant, Older Man/Younger Woman, Requited Love, Spoilers for Episode: s01e03 Brocket Hall, Vicbourne, Victoria POV, not historically accurate
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-03
Updated: 2017-09-03
Packaged: 2018-12-23 09:11:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,078
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11986713
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Keira_63/pseuds/Keira_63
Summary: Victoria thinks that anyone who might stumble upon them right now would find an odd scene.The Queen, barefoot and plainly dressed, waltzing in a darkened garden with her Prime Minister.





	darling, you look perfect tonight

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own any of the historical characters in Victoria nor do I own the TV series which was written by Daisy Goodwin. Any lines from the show are also not mine and are just borrowed from Daisy Goodwin and ITV Victoria. Any recognisable lines belong to Daisy Goodwin and the TV series.
> 
> Parts of this story were inspired by sections of the song 'Perfect' by Ed Sheeran (the cover by Jess and Gabriel is also good).

_‘_ _I will not give you up this time_  
_But darling, just kiss me slow, your heart is all I own_  
_And in your eyes you're holding mine_

_…_

_Baby, I'm dancing in the dark with you between my arms  
Barefoot on the grass_

_…_

_Fighting against all odds_  
_I know we'll be alright this time_  
_Darling, just hold my hand_

_…_

_I see my future in your eyes_

_…_

_I don't deserve this, darling, you look perfect tonight’_

_Ed Sheeran - Perfect_

 

* * *

_“Have you danced with George yet?”_

_“He wants to dance with a queen ... not necessarily with me.”_

_“Then he's more of a fool, than I suspected.”_

_“I wasn't sure if I would dance with you tonight.”_

_“It would be unkind for Elizabeth to refuse her Leicester.”_

_“Leicester was her companion?”_

_“He was. He did have a wife, but then she died.”_

_“But even though he was free, they never married.”_

_“I think both he and the Queen understood they were not in a position to marry … Whatever their inclination.”_

………

_  
_ William takes a step back after his admission and the physical action is so heavy with meaning (his attempts to set the Queen free for another who can give her the kind of life she deserves) that it breaks his composure and he thinks that, if only for a second or two, his heartbreak is clear to the world.

He takes another step back, though his legs feel like lead.

Then he stops. Because the Queen has moved too.

He is not sure whether it is deliberate or an unconscious thing, but as he steps back she moves forward so that the gap between them remains as it was, skirting the line of propriety for a pair who no longer have the excuse of dancing to explain why they stand so close together.

  
“Can we not dance once more?” she asks, though he knows she is perfectly aware that to do so would cause a terrible amount of talk that he does not wish to subject her to.

“Not tonight, Ma’am.”

He sees her expression become stricken and realises that he has repeated the words he spoke to her at the coronation ball, when champagne made her bold and her intoxicating presence made him wish desperately that he could take her in his arms and kiss her.

But he had not done what he wished and the evening had ended badly for them both. Now he has reminded her of that night and spoiled this ball as well, when all he wants to do tonight is assure her that he is not at all indifferent to her … that if things were different he would have gladly accepted her heart and her love.

 

He has underestimated her, though. Where the newly crowned Queen had fled at his words, this Queen in front of him now stands her ground.

“Why must you always push me away?” she asks, quiet enough that her words will not be overheard by curious onlookers but loud enough for him to detect the frustration in her voice.

William’s gaze darts around the room, at King Leopold’s disapproving glare and Emma’s knowing looks and the narrowed eyes of the court’s biggest gossips, and he knows that they cannot have this conversation, not in such a public place at least.

He also accepts, though, that the Queen will not be put off. He has seen enough of her stubborn nature to realise that this is an issue on which even his famous ability to calm her will not succeed.

“A ballroom is no place for such a topic, Ma’am,” he reminds her.

Truly, he hopes to put her off for days or weeks, enough time for him to rebuild the walls around his heart that have been so easily shattered recently by her mere presence, to allow him to steel himself to lose her to a foreign prince (a Coburg, if King Leopold has anything to say about it).

Of course, she does not give him the chance. If he knows her perseverance then she knows his stalling tactics just as well. And now she has found the chink in his armour, for he has undone all his attempts to appear indifferent by coming to this ball as the Leicester to her Elizabeth and admitting his feelings, unwilling as he is to have her believe that hers are unrequited.

 

“You must stay here tonight, Lord M.”

He shakes his head, “you know I should not, Ma’am.”

She gives him one of her imperious looks, usually reserved for the likes of Sir Robert Peel, but when she speaks it is with warmth and not the cold politeness she graces those she dislikes with, “please, Lord M, I must speak with you after the ball is over.”

He sighs but knows she is right. He has given too many mixed signals, his head fighting desperately with his heart as he finds himself admitting to what he feels even as he knows he should be stepping back. Trying to do the right thing has never been so difficult for him and he thinks a completely honest conversation is probably the most sensible thing right now.

He may (will) break his own heart in the process, but he will do so quite cheerfully if he can ensure a happy and secure future for the Queen he loves so fiercely.

 

After a few moments of silence William finally nods his assent to the Queen’s request, “I will retire now but you _must_ stay a good while longer, Ma’am, or people will talk. I will meet you when the ball is over, unless you would rather wait until morning.”

There is small chance of that, he knows, but he has to try – a morning meeting, after all, has much less potential for scandal than one in the middle of the night.

“Tonight,” the Queen replies decisively, “in the gardens by the roses once the ball is over.”

He nods. What else can he do, for she is Queen, and more than that she is Victoria, who he adores.

“Goodnight, Ma’am,” he says loudly enough for half the room to hear.

 

She clasps his hands in a farewell gesture, though he is not going far at all, and he thinks if she continues to look at him as she is now (eyes shining with undisguised affection) then he will never be able to say what is required of him to make her understand that anything more between them than what they have now cannot be.

He walks quickly out of the room, past King Leopold, whose irritatingly smug smile at least confirms that nothing untoward is suspected of them … yet.

 

He wishes he could have a glass (or two or three) of brandy to calm his nerves but he will need to have all his wits about him tonight.

The Queen’s mind is not easily changed and while her loyalty and determination are admirable, it will not make his unhappy task any easier.

So there will be no brandy for him yet. Instead he borrows a book from the palace’s impressive library and heads to his usual bedroom to try and drive the image of the Queen from his mind for a few hours.

Naturally, all such attempts fail.

 

* * *

 

Victoria dances happily for hours.

True, Lord M has retired to his room, but she will see him soon enough. And besides, her worries have been assuaged. After all, did he not dress as the Leicester to her Queen Elizabeth and explain the connection, the truth of his feelings?

 

_“I think both he and the Queen understood they were not in a position to marry … Whatever their inclination.”_

 

Oh she replays those words over and over in her mind as she dances. She is sure, so sure that all obstacles can be overcome now that they both know the truth of their feelings and the requited nature of them.

 

She dances with numerous partners, including her cousin George, for the delight which Lord M’s words have given her makes it easy to be kind (even to selfish, ridiculous George), and she watches with some amusement as uncle Leopold’s mouth purses as she twirls round the ballroom with the man he clearly perceives as a rival to cousin Albert (who has been so talked of recently by mama and uncle Leopold that she is quite sick of him before he has even visited).

Victoria loves balls and she enjoys this one immensely despite the fact that Lord M has been scarcely present. Still, her thoughts are often consumed by ideas of what to say when she meets him later, of how to convince him that he does not need to be so self-sacrificingly noble _all_ the time. Frustrating, clever man that he is, she thinks that it will not be easy.

This feels like her last chance, though. She thinks that if she fails tonight then she will have to watch as Lord M pulls ever further away from her.

The idea of such a thing is intolerable to her, and she suspects it is not an appealing prospect to her Lord M either … she just has to make him see it.

 

* * *

 

They meet by the roses as arranged when the ballroom has emptied and the palace is nearly silent.

William considers staying away, but honesty has always been an important part of his relationship with the Queen (misdirection when she visited Brocket Hall aside) and he does not want to make a liar of himself now by not keeping his word.

He is still in his Leicester costume, though he has forgone the hat and his clothing is a little rumpled from the hours spent reading in an armchair in his room. The Queen has changed, however, and while he thinks she looked beautiful as Queen Elizabeth he finds that he prefers seeing her as herself, wearing a far less elaborate dress and with her long dark hair loose and hanging down her back in a way he has not seen before but thinks becomes her very well.

 

“I did not know if you would come, Lord M.”

“We did arrange to meet, Ma’am,” he reminds her.

“You seemed reluctant,” she says quietly.

“I do not wish you to come to any harm due to gossip or talk, Ma’am, and a meeting like this cannot be easily explained if we are discovered.”

“I am sure it will all be well,” she insists.

He does not argue with her. It is futile and now he is here he thinks it is safer to stay and hear what the Queen has to say so that he can escort her back to the palace as soon as possible.

“What did you want to speak with me about, Ma’am?”

 

She looks unsure for a moment, but soon enough she seems to gain courage and speaks, “will you dance with me, Lord M, not as Elizabeth and Leicester but as Victoria and William?”

His eyes widen at the casual way she has referred to them, the disregard of protocol.

“There is no music, Ma’am.”

She laughs, a lovely silvery sound, at his weak excuse, which was the first thing that had come to his mind.

“We do not need music, Lord M, I think you and I have always been well able to keep a rhythm together.”

He does not deny it because it is true. There has always been very little awkwardness between them and a feeling of rightness in their interactions together.

So he nods, but lifts a quizzical brow when she begins to slip her shoes off so that she stands barefoot on the grass.

“I have been wearing these shoes for hours, Lord M, and I assure you that they are not nearly as comfortable as yours are.”

Really, he should be arguing with her, but she looks so natural like this that he does not want to ruin it.

Instead he bows, offers her his hand, and she steps into the cradle of his arms.

 

* * *

 

Victoria thinks that anyone who might stumble upon them right now would find an odd scene.

The Queen, barefoot and plainly dressed, waltzing in a darkened garden with her Prime Minister.

But she does not see it that way. To her it is only Victoria and William dancing without the prying eyes of the court, to music only they can hear and with a privacy seldom afforded to them.

She is not wearing gloves and neither is he. She can feel every touch of his hand in hers and she adores it. They move in synch, as they always have, and dancing feels right with Lord M in a way it never has with anyone else.

She watches him, catalogues every aspect of the face she so loves, and thinks that she can imagine growing old with him, tracing every line on his face (the ones present now and the ones that will come). She wants it so badly, the future with him that she dreams of so often.

 

“I will not give you up, Lord M,” she tells him as they sway slowly together under the inky sky.

He looks down at her, eyes filled with a sadness that permeates his whole being, “all things come to an end, Ma’am, and that is not always a bad thing.”

She wants to growl in frustration, though it is certainly not behaviour suited to a Queen, “losing you will not make me happy, Lord M,” she insists, “I know you are trying to do the right thing but these feelings I have, they are not the idle fantasies or the fickle emotions of a child. I … I love you, Lord M.”

It is the first time she has said the words out loud, the most direct she has ever been with him. She hopes that these will be the words to finally get through to him, but he has ducked his head so she cannot tell.

“You have my heart,” she continues, “that will not change, and I think … I hope, that I have your heart in return.”

He lifts his head slowly, “you have it,” he whispers, almost brokenly, the expression on his face a myriad of emotions that she does not try to decipher.

Hope surges within her, and she trembles as she speaks her next words, “then, Lord M, I ask you … will you kiss me?”

 

* * *

This is not the way William expected things to go.

He was so sure that he would be able to explain the impossibility of there being anything more between them to the Queen, hard as it would be for him. She has shattered his defences, though, with the honesty and true feeling he admires so much in her.

He has admitted that she has his heart, but he thinks he can still stop this if he can just focus.

Then she asks him to kiss her and all he can see in his mind is the glorious madness that will ensue if he does as she has asked.

“Ma’am …”

“The odds are against us, Lord M, but I know we can beat them … together I believe we will be alright.”

She says it with such conviction that he begins to believe her, to entertain the crazy idea that he might get a happy ending. For so long he has believed that love has passed him by forever, but perhaps it has not, and though he is sure that he does not deserve this wonderful woman in front of him, he starts to hope in a way he never has before.

 

William reaches out a tentative hand to cup her cheek, fingers gliding across her silky skin, and their eyes meet.

He sees it all reflected in her eyes. Their first meeting; their confidences and conversations together; the smiles and laughter and understanding; the strength they both draw from each other; shared looks; dancing together at the coronation ball, as Elizabeth and Leicester, and on the grass under the light of countless stars; and that fierce protectiveness shown by them both almost since the beginning.

He also sees a future. Full of thorny paths, angry politicians, criticism and difficulties … the road less travelled. But with an indescribable happiness too, a life he would face a thousand trials to experience.

 

He makes his decision.

He leans down and their lips meet for the very first time.

 

* * *

 

He is kissing her.

Victoria’s mind is a muddle, unable to focus on anything except the fact that his lips are on hers.

Her first kiss.

It feels so perfect, better than anything she has felt before. She does not really have any idea what she is doing, but Lord M’s hand on the side of her face helps to guide her, and she thinks she must be doing something right because he deepens the kiss, holding her in his arms like she is the most precious thing in the world to him.

Dearest Lord M, how she loves him.

 

When they break apart she frowns – just one kiss and she already craves more.

He laughs a little at the expression on her face, but his face shows only fond amusement and so she is not offended by his laughter.

“Is it always like that?” she asks softly, “so wonderful, so right?”

He holds her hands in his, strokes her skin gently with his thumbs, “only with the right person, Victoria.”

His use of her name sends a tingle of what she recognises as attraction down her spine and she surges forward, letting go of his hands so she can tug his tall frame down to kiss him once more.

She feels his mouth quirk into a smile against hers and thinks that love is magnificent.

 

* * *

 

It is, William thinks, a more dishevelled pair that move back towards the palace. But to him the Queen … Victoria … only looks more enticing with hair tangled by his hands running through it and lips slightly swollen by a first (and second and third and fourth) kiss.

“I am sure I will look a fright in the morning,” she says absent-mindedly as they head towards the palace doors, her eyes roving over the grass-stained hem of her dress and the mud on her feet, “my dressers will be horrified.”

He shakes his head, “darling girl, you look perfect.”

She beams at him radiantly, he takes her hand in his, and together they walk towards their future.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading. Hope you enjoyed it.


End file.
